The Lighthouse's Secret
by Adara's Rose
Summary: Archer could hear several of the younger boys call out in fright and the teachers trying to calm them. When it died away, the lights flickered on again as if nothing had happened - and yet, something had. A seat was empty. [He] frowned in confusion. He had not seen the boy leave. "Where did Mr Green go?" he asked. The other boys looked at him in total confusion. "Who is Green?"
1. Chapter 1

_Then let the secret fire consume,_

 _Let it consume, thou shalt not know:_

 _With joy I court a certain doom,_

 _Rather than spread its guilty glow._

George Gordon, Lord Byron, "To M.S.G."

* * *

The rain pouring down outside never seemed to end, rattling against the window panes and turning the already dark dining Hall into a ghostly chamber full of flickering lights. Not even the highly modern Argand lamps1 around the room could brighten the gloom of this late September evening. Even younger students, who were usually capable of laughing at everything, were sombre as they ate their dinner. Archer Grey shivered in his too harshly starched white shirt, the collar uncomfortably tight and the black sweater vest not enough to ward of the chill. For the thousandth time he cursed his decision to work in a tiny village as far North as you could get without running into Scotland2, but in these times you took work where you could find it and due to his lack of experience that was this ridiculously expensive boarding school. Why, he had never seen children, some as young as eight years old, eat with silver cutlery before! As he moved through the dining hall, serving meat and potatoes to the students, he tried desperately to ignore the flutter in his stomach that only seemed to get worse as the night progressed. It was all due to the headmaster's guest, Mr Smith, who had arrived from London the previous day to investigate the disappearances of the English teacher Mr Barton and Agnes Miller the parlour maid. Mr Smith was in his mid-thirties, had brown hair that seemed immune to combs and wild blue eyes. He had a slightly mad grin, an intensity about him that was magnetic - and the ability to set Archer alight with a desire that was frightening. He had sworn to himself before he took up this position to not entertain such indecent thoughts about men again, no matter how beautiful, but one look at Mr Smith the day before and Archer's traitorous heart had stuttered with sudden, unexpected longing. Even worse: last night he had taken himself in hand not once but _twice_ before he could sleep, pressing his fist to his mouth so that James who slept in the other bed would not hear him whimper "John" at the height of his passion. Even now, the urge to crawl into the man's lap and kiss his beautiful mouth was strong enough for Archer's hands to tremble with need.

Suddenly a bolt of lightning lit up the entire room which was then thrown into complete darkness as the thunder roared above them. Archer could hear several of the younger boys call out in fright and the teachers trying to calm them. When it died away, the lights flickered on again as if nothing had happened - and yet, something had. A seat was empty. Mr Green had gone. Green was a slightly rounded ginger boy with glasses, and Archer had seen him right before the thunder roared. But now his seat, which was right beside Archer, was empty. All that remained was his glasses and his silver dessert spoon. Archer frowned in confusion. He had not seen the boy leave.

"Where did Mr Green go?" he asked as he stopped serving for a moment. The other boys looked at him in total confusion.

"Who is Green?" one of them asked, clearly confused.

"That is not funny!" Archer replied, agitated. "He was just here! You know him, heavy boy, wears glasses!" but the boys just looked confused. Archer's voice rose and took on a note of panic.

"He was right here!" he insisted shrilly.

"Is everything alright over there?" the headmaster asked in a warning tone, and Archer shrank with fear. There was something about this man that terrified him.

"Everything is fine, sir" he replied nervously, returning to serving the meal. He would talk to Mr Smith tomorrow. Surely the Londoner would listen to him.

Archer gulped and felt a fissure of alarm shiver through him. Dear God - if he was to report the missing student to Mr Smith that would mean being alone with him. Alone with Mr Smith... God Help him!

* * *

Archer knocked on the door and tried to stop his knees from shaking. It was no use, as the voice inviting him in belonged to Mr Smith and merely hearing it call "enter!" was enough to make him weak-kneed. He pulled his fingers through his sandy blonde hair, trying to look proper, but realised it was a lost cause after the sleepless night he had had. Instead, he took a deep breath and opened the door. He stopped cold on the threshold, instinctively wanting to check his mouth for drool: Mr Smith was in his shirtsleeves, and they were pulled up slightly so that his slim wrists were bared to Archer's ravenous eyes3. Just this thin strip of skin was enough to arouse the desire that had throbbed inside him since the first time he saw the man two days previous.

Mr Smith was smiling at him in a way that was probably thought to be encouraging, and it was - but probably not the sort of encouraging it was intent to be. Instead of encouraging Archer to tell Mr Smith about what he had witnessed in the dining hall the previous night, it only served to make him want to fall to his knees and worship the man like the Adonis he was. Preferably with his mouth. Archer blushed deeply at his indecent thoughts and mostly wanted to turn tail and run as far away from this man as he could. But then he remembered Mr Green, and steeled himself to step inside and speak to the object of his immoral fantasies.

"Forgive me for intruding, sir" he began and felt proud of himself that his voice came out clear and steady. "But I simply must speak to you about an event I witnessed last night." Mr Smith nodded encouragingly.

"Please, speak!" He said with the same enthusiasm he seemed to do everything. "Tell me all the details! Everything is important at the present!" Archer felt a little calmer at these words, and proceeded telling Mr Smith exactly what had occurred the previous night: how a student had been present before the thunder strike and missing after it, with no one seemingly remembering that he had existed at all. As his tale progressed, Mr Smith's enthusiasm seemed to diminish until his face was cut in stone, a frown marring his brow.

"Do you have any proof of this happening? That there was a boy called Green?" He demanded once Archer had finished. Archer nodded and pulled out the item he had swiped in the dining hall and carried in his trouser pocket, fearing discovery. Green's glasses. He handed them to Mr Smith, who placed them on the table with all the care of a man handling a poisonous snake. Then he pulled an odd object from his pocket. It seemed to be a tool of some kind, for he pressed a button and the tip lit up before he pointed it at the glasses. It made a humming sound, and the frown on Mr Smith's face became even more severe. Archer stared transfixed at his face; God, he was beautiful! Once the humming noise quieted down, Mr Smith turned to Archer, wild-eyed.

"This is not good at all. In fact, it's bad. It's really very bad!" He was gesturing wildly as he spoke. "This should not be possible, but there it is! It's not good at all!" Suddenly he spun around, pinning Archer with that wild gaze. "You need to leave. Now. You're a distraction. Go… polish silver or something. Now!" Archer flinched at the harsh dismissal, but stubbornly pushed down the hurt welling up inside. He must have given Mr Smith a vital clue that made him desperate to continue his investigations, and did not want to be disturbed. Archer gave a short bow and fled back to the safety of the servant areas.

* * *

When Archer arrived at the kitchen, out of breath after his flight, the only one present was Cook. Cook was a large, brutish woman whom Archer had mistaken for a man when first arriving at the school, and she had never let him forget it. Nor had she forgiven him, even though he had apologized more times than he could count. She still, after five months, punished Archer with the most demeaning and dull tasks she could think of: scrub pots, clean the larder, and serve the Headmaster his tea. Now she was glaring at him over a giant pile of fish she was preparing for the evening meal.

"Take out the trash" she barked, and Archer valued his continued health too much to question or argue. Instead, he took the overflowing bucket of fish guts and hurried outside to empty it into the ditch dug behind the garden wall to minimize the smell4. Some of the disgusting contents spilled out on his trousers, and he cursed softly. Now he would have to convince someone to lend him a pair until he could get the smell out: he only owned the one pair and could not possibly serve dinner reeking of fish. He emptied the bucket and took the chance to just stand there in the early April sun, enjoying its warmth and letting his thoughts wander as they willed. That turned out to be a bad idea, since his thoughts had a tendency to head straight to Mr Smith and stay there. At the present, they were occupied with the wild look in his eyes. It was so easy to imagine those eyes wild with passion, passion for _him,_ as Mr Smith came towards him, he was in his shirtsleeves and had rolled them up, baring his slender but strong arms, backing Archer against the door, pressing close and-

"Archer!" Cook's angry shout cut into his fantasy just in time, and for a wild moment Archer felt nearly grateful to the miserable woman; without her interruption, who knows what would have happened? He could already feel the heat pool in his groin. He took a deep breath and returned to the kitchen, resigned to end up with fish guts up to his elbows for the rest of the afternoon.

At dinner that night Mr Smith was mysteriously absent, and Archer found himself worried about the man's safety. He wanted to ask the headmaster where the handsome investigator was, but as he was only a servant such interest would be most suspicious indeed. Therefore all he could do was try his best to act as if nothing was going on and wait, hoping for his swift and safe return. Thankfully, no odd events seemed to occur, but Archer could not keep his eyes from straying to the empty seat.

Mr Green's seat.

* * *

1 There is no electricity available at the time this story takes place. However, Argand lamps were very fashionable in the mid-19th century in Britain, after the addition of gas lamps in the Houses of Parliament in 1859. They were expensive, thus only affordable by upper and middle class households. They were originally made to house oil that was lit with a wick, but were quickly modernised to instead use gas as their fuel. I expect that an expensive private school that uses silver cutlery would have no issues with affording this luxury. Read more about it at .

2 And that is as specific as it gets.

3 For Mr Smith (ie the Doctor) to appear with his coat off and his sleeves rolled up, baring skin, is highly indecent at this time. It signals a very intimate relationship between him and whoever sees him in such a state of undress, hence Archer being flustered and uncomfortable.

4 Indoor plumbing existed in these times but that does not mean they had waste disposal and trash bins.


	2. Chapter 2

_``Glance ere away the boat quite passed,_

 _``And neither time nor toil could mar_

 _``Those features: so I saw the last_

 _``Of Waring!''~~~You? Oh, never star_

Robert Browning, "Waring"

* * *

It was early morning and Archer was out in the gardens, enjoying a rare morning off. He sat on a low stone bench and enjoyed what little sun there was shining from the rapidly greying skies when he spotted Mr Smith coming up the lawn at a brisk pace. What surprised him was that he was not alone: in his company was a woman that seemed to be slightly older than him with an elegant cut to her red hair, and a young girl -around seventeen- who reminded Archer of the Indian woman he had seen in London once with her dusky skin and dark hair. Both women were dressed most scandalously, in trousers and jackets. For a moment he was rather horrified at the women's appearance, but then thought that maybe they were Americans. Americans were, after all, complete nutters. Or so he had been told. Archer had never met any Americans himself and so didn't know anything beyond what the other servants had said. But he still stood up and went to greet them, wanting to at least hear Mr Smith tell him "good day". He had missed him terribly in the short time he had been gone.

Mr Smith proved stressed but polite, introducing his companions to Archer. The girl was Miss Rani Chandra (and Archer felt rather pleased at correctly guessing her to be Indian) and the woman was Miss Sarah Jane Smith1. At first, hearing her name, Archer had felt unreasonably unhappy thinking she was Mr Smith's wife, but when she emphasised the _Miss_ he concluded that she was most likely his sister, and the girl her ward. They seemed to be nice enough, and Miss Smith was clearly British. Maybe they had just returned from India and had not gotten used to proper English dress code yet. One must make allowances for people who had spent time abroad in uncivilized countries. The girl spoke excellent English and seemed rather intelligent, probably she had been tutored by English people in India. He had heard of rich Indians being able to give their children proper educations: Miss Rani must come from such a family. But it was still surprising to see a girl with such skills - the only Indians he had heard of receiving proper education had been boys2. Mr Smith excused himself and his family and hurried on towards the main school building, leaving Archer behind to puzzle over the sympathetic look Miss Smith had given him. It was most perplexing.

* * *

The day dragged on relentlessly, even though Archer was only functioning with about half a brain. The rest of his brain was puzzling over why Mr Smith had been in such a hurry - and why he was absent at dinner. Perhaps he was dining in his rooms with Miss Chandra and his sister, but he had not seen a tray prepared for them. Therefore, when he finally returned to the kitchens, he decided to take his chances disturbing Cook.

"Should I take a tray up for Mr Smith and his guests?" He asked nervously, and shrank away from the glare Cook levelled on him.

"I already had Martha do it." She said surly, and Archer nodded and lowered his gaze to the wash basin. He felt strangely unhappy at someone else serving the enigmatic Londoner, and chastised himself harshly for it. What rights did he have to Mr Smith? None. And if he was found out harbouring such immortal thoughts of one of Scotland Yard's finest, well, he knew what would happen to him then. Prison, if he was lucky, but most likely a swift execution of a one-way-ticket to Australia3. In any case, it would mean the ruin for his poor mother, who was already sick. If he did not send her his pay check, what would become of her then? And she would have to bare the shame of having a faggot for a son! It was unthinkable. Impossible. He must forget Mr Smith as soon as possible. Besides, the man would surely leave once he had complete his investigation. The thought if this was no comfort, however: in fact, it made Archer feel as though he was about to cry. He hunched over the wash basin and prayed that no one would disturb him, so that they would not see the tears dripping down into the soapy water.

* * *

After having finished his chores for the night, Archer found himself feeling unusually restless and decided to go for a walk around the grounds and down to the shore, which was one of his favourite spots to be alone and think. The shore was not a good place for swimming since the shoreline was littered with sharp rocks and algae. The water was also frigidly cold all year around, not a place you wanted to spend any time at. However, there was still a lighthouse on a little island a bit from the shore, abandoned now, but in olden days there had been a lighthouse keeper living there with his family. This was back when there had been an active quay here. But since the fishing dried up, most of the people living in the little village had left and there had no longer been any use for a lighthouse. Archer liked to walk down by the shore, looking at the lighthouse and fancy himself living there: alone, at peace, with his books and the never-ending sky as his companions. It was a dear daydream of his, fanciful and unrealistic. If nothing else than because he had no money and owned no books apart from an old bible his mother had given him when he left to take up his current position. He pulled his thin coat tighter around his thin frame and promised himself for what must be the hundredth time to ask one of the servant girls to help him sew in new buttons as he carefully climbed the slope down to the beach. It was a traitorous path, wet and slippery, but soon he stood on the rocks where he was reasonably safe from falling. He could still ruin his shoes if he not careful, but Archer had walked this shore so many times that he knew where he could safely put his feet.

He had not walked for more than fifty feet at the most, when he saw something that made him stop cold. There was a light shining in the lighthouse: a lighthouse that had been abandoned for close to thirty years, since the old lighthouse master had died and his family moved away. There had been no point in appointing a new lighthouse keeper, so the building had been left abandoned to time and the elements. But now the beacon in the tower shone as bright as Archer fancied it must have shone in its heyday, when ships were coming in at all times of the day and night, needing the light to avoid hitting the sharp cliffs and rocks littering the area. Archer stood on the shore, staring at the light in fascination and confusion, when he much to his surprise heard his name called. He startled, and turned around only to see Miss Rani come towards him. She was dressed in an outfit that made his face turn red with embarrassment: the fabric was some sort of shiny black material he had never seen before and covered her entire body, sitting tight against her flesh and leaving no cause for imagining what lay beneath her clothes. She might has well have walked around naked! Around her neck hung a small pouch of what seemed to be the same shiny material, and in her hand was a heavy bowl that almost looked spherical4.

"M-miss Rani!" Archer stuttered and panicked for a moment that he was using her first name: had he made a terrible blunder? Surely he did not know the lady well enough. "I apologize, Miss Chandra, I did not mean to presume-" he could hear the plea in his own voice and cringed. She could have him fired for being too familiar with her, and he desperately needed the salary! Miss Rani - no, Miss Chandra - gave him a gentle smile, most likely meant to soothe and calm him.

"My name is Rani" she said. "You don't need to call me miss. Or Chandra" Archer blushed.

"That is most improper!" He protested. She shrugged.

"If you say so." she said, then walked down to the water. She flinched as the cold swept in around her legs, then schooled her features in an expression that could only be called determined. She turned to Archer. "If anyone but the Doctor asks if you have seen me, you have no idea what they are talking about. Understood?" Archer looked at her helplessly.

"Miss Rani" he hesitated, unsure of the familiarity, but when she did not seem to mind he pressed on. "Forgive me for asking - but who is the Doctor?" He felt very silly, but he needed to know. Miss Chandra looked at him oddly. Then her pretty face transformed as she smiled at him, and for a moment he was completely dazzled by her beauty. But, his heart insisted, she did not hold a candle to John Smith.

"I think you know him as Mr Smith" she said, before pulling the odd bowl over her head and attaching some sort of tube to it. On her back were strapped two larger tubes that were as dark as the shiny material of her outfit. Then she waded into the water and - before Archer could react - she had disappeared beneath the dark waves. The only sign that she had been there was the ripples of the water's surface where she had submerged.

* * *

Archer waited on the shoreline with increasing anxiety for Miss Rani to return. The light still shone with the same strength as when he had arrived, although his wristwatch (the only thing he had from his late father) showed him that nearly two hours had passed. Still no sign of Miss Rani, and he tried very hard not to panic. She had said not to tell anyone where she was or what she was doing, but surely no living creature could hold their breath for two hours! He wrung his hands, fearing that he through his inaction had caused the death of the poor girl nearly made him faint with despair, but he clung to the hope the mysterious tubes on her back were some sort of modern invention that helped her do whatever it was she had been out to do. None the less, he wrung his hands in his anxiety, pacing the shore as he waited. He dared not leave without seeing her safe return. He was numb to the cold by this point, and no longer consciously aware of the water coming in and soaking his shoes and socks. All he could think of was the girl somewhere out there in the waters.

After what seemed like an eternity, he suddenly saw a dark figure emerge from the waves and for a moment he felt the terror of a hare in the foxes' den. Then he realised that the odd shape was the bowl Miss Rani had put over her head before submerging into the waters and that it was, in fact, her that came towards him. She removed the odd bowl and smiled at him in triumph,

"I got them!" She crowed with glee, sounding as if she had done something marvellous. Archer felt helplessly confused.

"Got what?" He asked, feeling faint from relief that she seemed to be alright. Miss Rani touched the pouch hanging around her neck, and Archer saw that it seemed to have contents now where previously it had appeared empty.

"The bottles the Doctor asked me to get!" She said happily. "I found them - and they didn't notice me!" Archer felt even more confused now.

"Who are they?" He asked, helplessly. Miss Rani shook her head.

"I don't know." she said. "The Doctor wouldn't tell us, he said he needs to be completely sure before he makes any sort of accusation." She started walking towards the school, and Archer found no alternative except following her. They walked back in silence, the only noise in the night apart from their footsteps being the clinking of glass bottles in the pouch around Miss Rani's neck.

1 The women introduced here are Sarah Jane Smith, ex-companion to the 4th Doctor, and Rani Chandra who lives on her street and is a good friend of her son Luke. Both characters are taken from The Sarah Jane Adventures. Wonderful show, you should watch it if you haven't already.

2 Please do not think the author or Archer to be racist, we are not! Archer is simply expressing views common in these times. Remember that he is an Englishman of questionable education and very much a man of his time!

3 Sodomy, or Buggery if you prefer, was punishable by death until 1861. It was illegal until 1967. Oscar Wilde was jailed and sentenced to two years of hard labour for his relations with Lord Alfred Douglas 1895. Archer's fears are most definitely not unfounded, but he most likely would not have been sent to Australia.

4 For those of you who aren't as quick catching on: Rani's wearing diving gear. Old-fashioned diving gear.


	3. Chapter 3

_So close and there to wander_

 _Confines wearing thin_

 _Clear in where to squander_

 _Such untroubled skin_

\- Ian Dury & The Blockheads, "Broken Skin"

* * *

When Archer and Miss Rani returned to the school, something about the building made Archer feel ill at ease. He could not pinpoint what it was, just a feeling of menace that hung around the house. He did not wish to leave Miss Rani alone even for a minute, and even though she told him she would be fine on her own he accompanied her on her way to Mr Smith's quarters. He did not quite know what use he would be to her: she had proven herself a quite capable young woman and would surely fare better than him in a confrontation, but still he was reluctant to leave her alone. And if he accompanied her, he would perhaps catch a glimpse of the man who had stolen his heart in a few short days. Just a glimpse was all he would need to fall asleep happy and go through the next day smiling, even with a severe lack of sleep.

When they came to the corridor in which the rooms were located, they could hear raised voices, clearly arguing. Miss Rani stopped to listen and gestured to Archer to be quiet. He did not like the idea of eavesdropping, but one of the voices was Mr Smith's and he could not stop himself from waiting with bated breath to hear it again.

"...being ridiculous!" that was Miss Smith's voice, sounding frustrated.

"I am being ridiculous?" That was Mr Smith, indignant and almost shrill. "You are the one accusing me of… of _cavorting_ with the staff!"

"I did not say you were doing anything with anyone!" Miss Smith's frustration intensified. "I only said that you look at him in a way I have never seen you look at anyone! And he looks at you the same way!" Mr Smith made a sound like he was letting out an explosive breath.

"I do not look at anyone! I am here to find out what is happening-" He was near shouting now.

"And in the process you've clearly fallen for that nice boy!" Miss Smith sounded insistent.

"I have not fallen for anyone!" Mr Smith yelled.

"Then why are you so defensive?" Miss Smith sounded softer now, as if she was appealing to him. "Doctor, I know you. The face might be different but the person inside has not changed that much. You have been alone for too long. I know you miss Rose, but isn't it time to move on? You should never be alone, Doctor, and everyone deserves to be loved." She said the last with a conviction in her voice that made Archer's head feel light. She knew. She knew the secret feelings he had for her brother! Oh God, if she knew, who else? He was ruined. Doomed. He leaned against the wall for his legs refused to keep him upright any longer. But he could simply not stop listening to the conversation on the other side of the wall.

"So what do you propose I do?" Mr Smith - The Doctor? - asked, sounding almost helpless. It broke Archer's heart to hear him speak in such a tone - he wanted to run into the room and comfort him, help him, support him. "Ask him to run away with me and live in sin?"

"Well" Miss Smith said, "It would be a good start." Mr Smith made a little noise that sounded halfway between a sob and a laugh.

"And when he says no?" He asked, sounding even more helpless.

"I don't think he will say no, Doctor. His heart is in his eyes every time he looks at you. Take a chance, old friend. He seems like a lovely young man, and I have seen how you look at him. He could very well be just what you've been looking for, even though you've never admitted even to yourself that you are looking." Mr Smith sighed deeply, and there was silence for a moment.

"I… I will think about what you said." He finally contended. Miss Smith, apparently satisfied with this, went on:  
"Have you figured out what is happening here yet?"

"I think so, but it depends on what Rani finds in the lighthouse." Mr Smith sounded excited again, and the sound of pacing could be heard. "I am nearly sure but I cannot make a positive identification unless Rani brings me what I am rather convinced that she will found there. But she better hurry we are running out of time." In the corridor, Rani turned to a highly bewildered Archer.

"Best I go in" she whispered. "Thanks for walking me back. Goodnight, Archer." Then she hurried down the corridor and knocked on Mr Smith's door. Suddenly Archer regained the ability to move his legs and fled in the opposite direction, his mind reeling. He was simply not ready to face Mr Smith yet, not after what he had overheard. Mr Smith cared for him! Wanted him! Perhaps- perhaps even loved him. It was as if his feet did not even touch the ground as he hurried back to his rooms, his heart singing with joy.

* * *

As Archer neared his own door, he was once again filled with a diffuse feeling of dread. Something was wrong, he just knew it, but he could not put his finger on what it was. Not even the bubbling happiness inside was enough to calm his suddenly anxious mind. He hesitated for several moments outside the door before drawing a deep breath and opening it. At first glance, the room seemed perfectly normal: James sat on the bed, half-undressed, hunched over as if deep in thought. A small candle burned on the nightstand, and the room was still. Archer felt reassured enough to go inside, and close the door behind him. He instantly realised what a terrible mistake he had made, for James raised his head and looked at him with eyes that were not James'. They were cold in a way that he had never seen before, and inhuman coldness that frightened him more than he had ever been frightened before. Then a voice cut through the silence and Archer jumped in terror.

"About time" said Cook. "Where have you been, little faggot? Squealing under Mr Smith?" Archer spun around, a furious denial on his lips, but the words faltered and vanished when he faced the woman. She seemed to have grown since he last saw her in the kitchen earlier during the day, at least a foot, and in her hand was a device of a kind he had never seen before. It looked like a lantern, but it was lantern out of a nightmare. The metal was twisted and blackened, as if by unbearable heat, and the lens was a dark red that reminded Archer of blood. Something about the lantern was horrifyingly familiar, but it took his petrified brain a moment or two to realise what it was. He had seen it before: in the dining hall. Just as the lightning exploded - the moment before Mr Green vanished. The clues that had been littered around his brain came together to form a picture that made him want to weep in terror, but he somehow found himself able to speak.

"It was you." he whimpered, horror-struck. "You made them disappear! Mr Barton! Agnes! The boy, Green!" The Cook made a face that was a mockery of a smile, as if a creature who had only vague notions of what it should look like was attempting to do it. It made Archer's blood run cold.

"Yes" Cook said. "And now, dear Archer, it is your turn." She raised the lantern and pressed some sort of button on it, but Archer did not give himself time to see the result. He threw himself down on the floor, and heard a sharp noise ringing over his head. It must have been the lantern firing whatever it was it was firing! He could not remember it making such a noise before, but figured it must have been muffled by the thunder when Mr Green vanished. Archer scrambled for some sort of protection and his hand fell on the old mirror his mother had given him for his eighteenth birthday. It had a crack down the middle where the silver inside peeked out, and therefore Archer had not used it for several months. He had, in fact, not realised he still had it. In a panic, he held it up to protect his face when he heard the odd sharp noise again. When questioned later, he could not remember what had made him do it, but it was what saved his life. Suddenly, there was the clang of metal hitting wood and James cursing loudly.

"You idiot!" He yelled. "Now see what you've done! You vaporized the commander!" Archer scrambled to his feet, staring with wild terror at the man he had considered a friend. But was it even a man? Archer didn't know. It didn't matter. He fled, petrified, to the one place in the entire house he knew he could find help. Mr Smith's quarters.

* * *

Archer ran so fast through the building he nearly tripped over his own feet on the staircase, but luckily he managed to get a hold of the banister at the last moment. A desperate sob forced its way out of his mouth as he stumbled through the corridor leading to Mr Smith's rooms, and he banged at the door with a frenzied desperation. After what felt like an eternity, the door was opened by a rather disconcerted Mr Smith, but Archer paid his expression no mind and instead threw himself into his arms where he started weeping. After a moment of stunned immobility, he felt Mr Smith's arms wrap around him in an embrace that made him feel safe for the first time this dreadful night, an embrace he never wanted to leave. It felt so right to be held in his arms, like he belonged there, and as if everything would work out alright as long as he was clasped in them.

"Archer" Mr Smith murmured, gently, and Archer turned his face up to meet his gaze.

"Oh, Mr Smith, I-" His eyes still swam with tears, and therefore Mr Smith leaning in and kissing him came as a complete surprise. His lips were dry and slightly chafed, but they pressed against Archers' as if they were made to, and Archer made a little gasp from shock and pleasure. It was enough of an invitation for Mr Smith to slip his tongue inside, and Archer whimpered with need as his own tongue shyly met with the intruder to twine together in a dance as old as time. Mr Smith tasted of strong cheese and sweet jam, and something else that was purely him. A taste Archer wanted to spend the rest of his life learning. A cough somewhere further inside the room made Archer pull away, blushing fiercely, hardly daring to look at Miss Smith. But she was smiling at them in a way that was both amused and triumphant, and Archer shyly smiled back even as he pressed closer to Mr Smith, who seemed intent to keep holding him. It felt truly wonderful.

"May I suggest you wait with the snog until a better time, boys?" She asked, eyes twinkling. "I think there is a good reason Archer came here in such a state." Archer blushed furiously and hid his face in Mr Smith's shirt. It smelled of smoke and soap, and a scent that was similar to the taste of Mr Smith's mouth. It was the scent of the man itself, and Archer wanted to cover himself in it, blissfully unaware of anything but the lovely scent filling his nostrils. However, this was not the time to do so: instead, he carefully related the events that had transpired after he departed from Miss Rani earlier, ending with how he had held up the mirror and the strange accusation that James had uttered. Mr Smith looked eager.

"Do you still have the mirror?" He asked, and Archer felt pleased that he could produce the item from his pocket. Mr Smith took it reverently, examining it closely. Then he made a little whoop of excitement.

"Silver!" He yelled. "Of course! Silver! How could I have been so stupid? It's obvious! Silver!" He nearly danced with excitement.

"Doctor, I think it would be a good thing if you explained." Miss Smith said, sounding fond and exasperated at the same time. Archer got distracted by wondering why Miss Smith referred to Mr Smith by his title instead of his name - why did she not call him John? Maybe there had been a rift in the family. But then why was she there? These musings made him miss out on some of what Mr Smith was saying, but then he got a grip of himself and started listening.

"...crashed at the lighthouse, then most likely Mr Barton was the first victim since he was fond of rowing, and Agnes the second one since she went to meet him by the shore. But the device wasn't at full power yet, so their bodies weren't vaporized!" Mr Smith was talking so quickly it made him difficult to understand, but Archer tried his best to listen to his words instead of staring at his gorgeous mouth. "Mr Green was most likely just a test to see if it was fully powered up yet, and it is now! That's why the cook disappeared! Now if we can just find the device I can neutralize it and then I'll just talk to James and-" He paused to take a breath, and in the brief moment of silence another voice cut in. A voice that made Archer freeze in terror.

"I don't think there is anything to say, do you, Mr Smith? Or should I say Doctor?" James said in a mocking tone as he stepped into the room, the nightmarish lantern in his hand giving out a dull red glow.


	4. Chapter 4

_Who wast or yet the Lights were set,_

 _A whisper in the Void,_

 _Who shalt be sung through planets young_

 _When this is clean destroyed._

\- Rudyard Kipling, "To The True Romance"

* * *

The silence in the room was deafening as James smiled menacingly at Archer, Mr Smith and the ladies. Archer wanted to throw himself in front of Miss Rani and Miss Smith, but his legs refused to budge. And even if they had, Mr Smith still had a death grip on his waist and seemed completely uninterested in letting go. For a moment they all stood frozen, then James made an impatient sound and gestured with the lantern.

"Move it. The lot of you. The captain wants to see you." They had no real choice but to obey him, so they all went into the corridor and further into the school building, obeying James' commands without question or discussion. Archer found walking slightly difficult since Mr Smith had not yet let go of him, but it seemed as if that was as much for Archer's comfort as his own, so he did not protest. Instead he squeezed Mr Smith's hand a little harder, offering silent comfort in return. James led them with brisk commands out into the chilly night, and it did not take Archer long to realise where they were heading. The old lighthouse.

They arrived on the shore, still deathly quiet. Archer wondered how they were meant to get across; Miss Rani might be able to swim out there, but he doubted Miss Smith was. He himself was a decent swimmer, but in waters as cold as these? He would struggle, perhaps not manage all the way. Then he saw the small, rickety rowboat, already leaking water. James ordered them into it, even though it sank deeper into the water for every person who stepped into it. The boat was old and worn, the boards not quite holding together, but when Archer turned to point out that it could very well sink, he saw the lantern's dull red glow and a sliver of terror ran through him. Silent, he sat down next to Miss Rani and watched as Mr Smith took the oars, James standing at the helm like Charon ferrying the doomed over the river Styx, the nightmarish device in his hand held high. In the distance, the light from the lighthouse glowed in the dark, a cold white light that seemed at some level as menacing as the lantern's red.

"It will be all right" he whispered to Miss Rani, and patted her hand comfortingly.

"Silent!" James barked, shining the lantern in Archer's face. "The next word out of your mouth will be the last thing you say!" Archer shrank back from the light, wanting nothing but to hide. Miss Rani's hand squeezing his was a small, but sorely welcome, comfort.

The lighthouse was quiet as the grave, as they climbed the rickety staircase up to the light itself. Mr Smith seemed to be full of restless energy in that his arms moved incessantly, his lips making words but no sound. He could not be described as agitated, nor was he excited. It seemed like some terrible combination of both. It almost frightened Archer, but at this point he was too smitten with the man to be alarmed by anything he might do or say. Everything was lovely, every word only enrapturing, and every gesture mesmerizing. If Archer had not been worried about what was to happen to them he would most likely have swooned when Mr Smith's eyes ran over him. No, not Mr Smith: the Doctor. He had to get used to calling him Doctor, even in his heart, even if it felt wrong. The man who had imprinted himself so deeply in Archer's soul was connected to the name _John Smith_ , to think of him as something else felt… odd. But at the same time, as if a piece of the puzzle that did not quite fit suddenly slid into place and he could see more of the picture. It was still mostly hazy, but becoming clearer. He only hoped he would live long enough to see the rest of it.

The chamber hosting the lighthouse light was not what Archer had expected at all; indeed, he had never seen such machinery in his life. There were glittering lights that did not seem to come from candles, metal of an unfamiliar kind, and more buttons than he had seen on even the finest of coats. In the middle of these things, stood a man that was both familiar and a complete stranger. The tall, bony figure of the school's headmaster turned slowly to face them, smiling in a way that was not human at all - like a snake closing in on a group of baby rabbits.

"Good evening" he said in a deep and pleasant baritone that did absolutely nothing to calm the prisoners. It does not matter how you paint and decorate it, a guillotine is still a guillotine. And the man that stood in front of them had a voice like a guillotine: terrible and beautiful and ready to fall at any second, the moment your neck touched the wood below. "How kind, James, to bring more subjects."

"Anything to please you, master." James said, sounding almost adoring.

"Yes, quite." the headmaster replied dismissively. Then he took a closer look at the ladies and the Doctor. "Who are these people anyway? And where's the commander? I told you to bring me Archer Grey." James opened his mouth to reply, but the Doctor got there first.

"I am the Doctor. I think you have heard of me." the headmaster frowned.

"Doctor. Just our luck that you would show up." he grumbled like a petulant child. "No matter, once I've fed on the boy I'll deal with you lot." Archer cried out in fear as James suddenly took an iron grip on his arm, pushing him forward and into the headmaster's reach. The man was smiling, and once again Archer thought of guillotines.

"No." the Doctor's voice was hard and unbending like a mountain. "Touch a hair on Archer Grey's head and I will not be merciful."

"My dear Doctor" the headmaster said, laughing, "What makes you think I need to touch him?" then he raised a device that had been lying next to him on the contraption of metal and buttons. Archer stared in mute horror as he looked straight into a dull red light. Then he heard a whirring noise.

Archer saw a ray of dull red light and expected that to be the end of it. He despaired at never having told the Doctor how he felt, but it did not matter any longer. Then someone yanked hard at his arm, pulling him out of the way. The ray instead struck James, who simply vanished as if he had never been there. It happened without a noise from the poor man, which somehow was more terrifying than if he had screamed.

"Stars" the headmaster muttered frustrated, "it takes _hours_ to recharge."

"So you haven't finished repairing it yet" the Doctor said, sounding almost triumphant. "That's what you're doing, isn't it? Repairing your food maker!"

"We call it a vaporizer." the headmaster sniffed haughtily. The Doctor laughed.

"It doesn't matter what you call it" he said, "What matters is what you use it for. So go ahead, pauresati, _gobble him all up!"1_ And, to the horror of the ladies and Archer, a thin appendage, almost like a snakes tongue, slipped out of the headmaster's tongue: it seemed to be some sort of funnel, because they could feel a draft of air as it breathed in deeply, sucking the fragments of what had once been a bit slow, but gentle, Scottish boy named James. The appendage rolled itself back up and disappeared into the headmaster's mouth accompanied by a satisfied sigh and a smacking of lips as one would expect after a gourmet meal.

"Doctor" Miss Smith said, her voice only wavering a little. "What is a pauresati?"

"A vampire of the worst sort." the Doctor said with a scowl, "they wanders through the universe and feed on everyone they can. Always ravenous, always hunting. This is just a pit stop, isn't it? You travel in pairs - the cook was your mate, wasn't she?" the headmaster looked furious - but Archer thought he also looked just a bit sad. "They stay a few months, feed, grow strong, and move on. Oh but you're clever, aren't you" he turned to the headmaster, addressing him directly instead of the room in general, "You vaporize your victims and feed on the remains - their atoms and energies. You devour them so completely there is not even a memory left. That way no one can accuse of murder. So why" he spun around suddenly and pointed an accusing finger at Archer, "do you remember Mr Green?"

"Yes" said the headmaster - no, the pauresati-, "I would like to know that, too."

Suddenly all eyes were trained on an equally bewildered Archer.

"I- I don't know" he stuttered, looking helpless. He stared at the Doctor pleadingly. _Help me_ , he begged mentally. _I don't know what's going on, why I'm special, I just want to be with you._ They were at an impasse: the headmaster and the Doctor staring at him like they were two entomologists who had just discovered a new type of bug. Then Miss Smith broke the silence with a single word.

"Silver" she said, simply, also looking at Archer. The Doctor jumped like he'd been stung by a bee.

"Of course! Silver! The only ward against a pauresati! It renders the vaporizer useless!" He swivelled around and looked at the pauresati again. "Or maybe it does more than that. Maybe it lets you remember!" He spun back again, with a speed that made Archer dizzy, to gesture wildly in his direction.

"Do you carry silver on you?" He demanded, excited. "A necklace, a ring, a watch, anything?" Archer shook his head, helplessly. Then he remembered something.

"When… when I was a child my uncle was a silversmith. I used to play in his workshop until one day I accidentally knocked over a cauldron. It… it got on my shoulder and arm. I remember my skin melting, that I screamed for my mummy. They couldn't… couldn't get all of it off, said they'd have to take the arm but dad wouldn't let them. Said I was no use with just one arm." The Doctor's face was a mixture of horror, compassion and fascination.

"You carry silver on your skin" he whispered, sounding nearly awed. "That's why you remember." Archer blushed at the tone, and shyly looked at the Doctor from under his lashes. The urge to simply throw himself at the man returned, but he held it back. This was no time for such things. There was a … what was it called again … a pauresati wanting to kill them all, for pity's sake! He could moon over the Doctor later.

"Doctor!" Miss Rani yelled in warning, darting forward to do… what, Archer didn't know because at the same time the headmaster threw himself forward with a furious roar, in his hand a knife that Archer had no idea where it came from. Not that it mattered, for the pauresati was much quicker than Miss Rani and the knife was now pressed to Archer's throat.

"I might not be able to eat you, pretty boy" he crooned in Archer's ear. This close, his voice sounded wet and sort of sticky, like blood drying on skin, "but I can slit your throat and drink your blood just the same while your fancy man watches." Archer looked at the Doctor pleadingly, but the man stood frozen, just staring at the tableau in front of him.

"I will give you one chance" the Doctor said, with a voice that spoke about how much he was struggling to keep calm, "to do the right thing and let Archer go. Then you can just… take your ship and go. I'll help you. You can leave and move on, and I'll forget I ever met you. But if you hurt him-" the headmaster just laughed.

"Oh, good Doctor, what happened to your policy to live and let live? Ready to throw it away over a hot piece of arse?" The knife pressed against Archer's Adams apple and he could feel a trickle of blood slide down his throat. The look in the Doctor's eyes changed.

"Are you prepared to find out?" He asked in a tone that Archer had never heard before and never wanted to hear again. His voice was as cold as the most frigid of winters, sharp as ice as it shatters. For a moment, the pauresati seemed to actually be alarmed. Then he smirked.

"Yes" he said, as he did one sharp movement over Archer's neck, blood spurting out in a cascade in cadence with the beat of his heart. Archer sank to the ground, hearing the Doctor howl in denial as he rushed forward, blind and deaf to anything but the young man on the floor.

The Doctor threw himself down on the floor next to Archer, hands shaking, eyes filling with tears. It wasn't fair, no no no not his Archer, sweet Archer Grey, who had made his heart feel light again after Rose. He could not, must not be dying! He turned the boy over and nearly cried with relief when he saw that the wound was superficial: if he could just stop the bleeding he would live. Scarred, perhaps, but he would live. He pressed on the wound, desperately trying to hem the blood flow, unaware of what was going on around him. He did not see the pauresati advancing on Rani, did not notice Sarah Jane who had been steadily moving through the room all this time reach the lantern and pick it up. He was deaf and blind to her raising it high in triumph, pointing it at the headmaster - and firing. All he saw was the blood. All he heard was Archer's ragged breathing. He did notice, however, when Rani scrambled forward to help him staunch the blood flow, Sarah Jane hot on her heels.  
"He'll be alright, Doctor" Sarah Jane said, "Look, the blood flow is slowing down already. Just keep him lying down until it stops." He nodded distractedly. Then he remembered something.

"The pauresati-"

"Gone." There was a finality in Sarah Jane's voice that he most definitely did not like, but did not care enough to argue with. All he cared about at this time was Archer Grey.

* * *

1 Why is the alien called "pauresati"? I created the word pauresati from the Maori, Basque and Croatian words for "devour": **pau (** Maori) + i **res** ten (Basque) + proždir **ati** (Croatian) = pau-res-ati (devour) = pauresati (devourer).


	5. Chapter 5

_I have known darkness_

 _jet black as the raven_

 _You just might be the closest_

 _I will ever get to heaven._

-Webb Wilder

* * *

Archer did not know how much time had passed since the events in the lighthouse, but the sun was shining brightly in the skies and he had a bandage covering his neck. He was walking slowly through the gardens, hoping to see the Doctor there. He had just received some terrible news and knew that just seeing the man would make everything better. But he had not been in his rooms, and no one seemed to know where he was. Finally he spotted the man walking briskly over the grassy lawn and hurried after him, calling out for him to wait. The Doctor stopped just in front of an odd blue box of a kind Archer had seen once or twice in London, turning slowly to face him. It was clear from the way that he moved, his emptied rooms, and the woman not being with him, that he was leaving, and Archer panicked. He sprinted towards the Doctor, stopping just a foot away from him and trying desperately to catch his breath.

"Please" Archer begged desperately once he could speak, "I just heard- my mother is-" He had to stop and draw a deep breath before continuing, "Take me with you back to London! There is nothing left for me here now. I will never request anything from you, I swear it, I will be your humble and loyal servant in any way you will have me. Just-" He was interrupted by the Doctors hands cupping his face.

"Archer Grey" he whispered quietly. "Sweet Archer Grey."

"Please" he sobbed. His heart was aching, his eyes blurring.

"Forget about me, Archer Grey" the Doctor said gently. "It will be better that way. Forget you ever knew me."

"No! Never!" Archer swore desperately. How could he even _consider_ leaving him behind? "Please, Doctor, please! You are taking my heart with you. Take the rest of me as well!" but no matter how Archer begged and pleaded with him, the Doctor still turned his back and vanished into his little blue box. Archer sank to his knees and the sound of his desolate sobs drowned out the whirring, churning noise the box made as it vanished.

* * *

 _This is where you stop reading if you want angst or don't like me shipping the Doctor with an 18_ _th_ _century boy, and review and leave kudos. If you want a happy ending, you keep reading._

* * *

Archer huddled on the ground, weeping in despair. He did not know how much time had passed since the Doctor left, but it felt like an eternity. He was too lost in his anguish to hear the noise repeated. But he was startled out of his grief by warm hands cupping his face, strong arms wrapping themselves around his trembling form.

"Archer" a voice he thought he would never hear again said, "Archer Grey, forgive me" he tried to see the Doctor's face through his tears but his vision was too blurry to make anything out. He nearly flinched when he felt the Doctor's lips press against his wet cheek, kissing away his tears.

"Forgive me" he whispered, his voice thick as if he was grieving too.

"Take me with you" Archer begged again, daring not hope that he would say yes. But the Doctor smiled and kissed his salty lips.

"Come, sweet Archer Grey, come away with me."

Was there any other way to reply than "yes"?

The door to the little blue box opened once more, but this time Archer made sure to have a strong grip on the Doctor's hand as he followed him inside. For a moment he stood shock still, staring in bewilderment. The chamber he was in was so far beyond what he had ever experienced before that he had no words to describe it. But the marvel of the room was a mere whisper to the man standing in front of him. He was everything Archer had never dared dream of, and he went to him without thought or hesitation. He pressed his body against John's - no, _the Doctor's_ \- breathless with desire.

"Take me to bed" he begged. "Make love to me." his name fell from those lush lips like a prayer being answered.

"Archer." their lips met in a kiss that made the universe quake.

Then all he knew was bliss.

* * *

Archer dozed peacefully, his head resting on his lover's chest. He was sleepily languid, satisfied in a way that he had never known existed, a pleasant ache between his thighs. The Doctor was running his fingers through Archer's tousled hair and the touch was both inviting and comforting. He adjusted his position slightly, tangling his legs with the other man, blinking sleepily. Something was odd, but he could not put his finger on what that was. He frowned in concentration. He had heard something… no, he was imagining things. But yes! He did hear something odd. He raised his head slightly and looked the Doctor in the eyes, letting his worry shine through.

"There is something odd with your heart" he said quietly, as if afraid voicing it would make it true. He was met with a chagrined smile and a nervous clearing of his lover's throat.

"Well. About that… see, there might be something I neglected to tell you…"

Fin.


End file.
